


Scars

by St_Salieri



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-04
Updated: 2007-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike watches Buffy sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

By the time the sun rose, Buffy was already asleep.

The night's patrol had been fairly uneventful - no more than the usual beasties who went bump in the night - and after a quick run through the local cemeteries, the two of them had simply wandered aimlessly around the city, talking and laughing, until the rising sun drove them home.

Over the years, the two had gradually merged their schedules into some kind of late-afternoon-to-early-morning hybrid that allowed them to roam the city at night and cocoon in their room during the sunniest part of the day. Even in the Era of the Slayers, the night still belonged to the demons, and the daylight to the humans. But the quiet, grey, in-between times - the still of early morning, the softness of early evening - belonged to Spike and Buffy alone.

Only between their worlds could they find peace.

Buffy lay curled on her side, the sheet pulled tight over her body and clenched in one fist. Spike eased it loose as he slipped in next to her, and she sighed and turned to lie on her back. The faint light of the early morning made her skin glow with a soft, silvery sheen.

"You awake, pet?"

The only response was an open-mouthed snore, and Spike smiled fondly before reaching down to gently smooth her hair out of her face.

She was as beautiful as she'd ever been - more beautiful, although she'd never believe him when he told her that. So he'd stopped telling her with his voice and started using his eyes and hands instead.

Her body told the story of the years that had passed, and even her quick Slayer healing was not enough to completely erase the evidence of the marks she'd received. Spike used his fingertips to trace the faint scar below her right breast, the one from the near miss with a knife-wielding zombie. He touched the pink line that circled the top of her thigh, evidence of a particularly bad night when she'd had to intervene in one of the many training runs she led with the young Slayers, then let his hand brush over the tiny wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.

Each scar spoke to him of the times he'd almost lost her; each wrinkle ticked out the years that passed over her. Her body was testament to the life she'd lived, from the bite marks on her neck to the divot on her belly that marked the place where she'd been stabbed with her own stake. He was water to her rock - the events of his life passed over him with a few ripples, leaving no outward trace of their passing. In his bad moments, when the guilt rose up to swallow him whole, he was grateful that he'd never be able to see his own unchanging face in a mirror.

Sometimes he wondered how she could bear to look at him with such love in her eyes.

Buffy stirred sleepily. Little lines appeared between her tightly shut eyes as she frowned.

"Spike?" she murmured. "What are you doing?"

He smiled, and he knew that somehow she could feel it.

"Just looking."

She gave a crooked smile and burrowed in closer next him without opening her eyes. "Freak. Go to sleep."

He hummed agreeably and settled down next to her. She was warm and soft, her skin smelling of sleep, and she yawned as he gathered her close to him. Her fingers curled around his bicep, and he saw her frown.

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked muzzily.

He looked down at the shallow cut she was fingering and grunted a negative, kissing her on the head. He hadn't even realized the cut was there.

"Just a scratch," he whispered. "Won't even be there when you wake up."

"Good," she said, burying her nose in his neck. "All gone. I like my Spikes in one piece."

"All gone," he agreed quietly.

The sun had fully risen now, the golden light leaking through the edges of the heavy curtains and giving the room a warm, rich glow. And when the sun set and the day turned into night, they would once more find their personal witching hour of the between-time. Until then, they would curl together and let the hours slip past them.

 


End file.
